The Song of a Bluebird
by Jkun33
Summary: A young Dunmer is led into a room with an interviewer, who asks to know her story. Knowing that she's about to die, she agrees to tell him her tales.
1. The Meeting

Outside of the cell sounded scratching and switching metallic locks being unfastened and undone, many, many of them, enough to keep in even the fiercest and most powerful of creatures. The sound went on and on, slowly moving its way down the heavily guarded and protected door. Surely nothing could ever escape from a place so locked up, and the thought was almost unfair. No chance at escape or freedom, trapped for an eternity inside an iron box, never to bask in the beautiful glory of daylight again. Cruel. Almost cruel.

The ones who set foot inside of it never returned to the outside world, not to see their families, their friends, nor even for a breath of fresh, clean, flowing air. Trapped like an animal inside a cage made of thick iron, lucky to see any light at all for the rest of their miserable lives. Very few had the privilege of seeing light again, even the dimmest of glows.

Those who saw light felt their hope flood back into them, sane or psychotic, like a gleaming, beautiful wave of happiness which engulfs and encircles one's heart with pure joy. For a few glorious moments, this feeling remains. Until they remember the stories.

The light meant the end. Death row. Mere moments before their horrid, excruciating execution.

The cells like these- if you could even call them cells, as they were boxes made of metal- were used for the most dangerous criminals, murderers, and thieves. Very few were condemned to the cell, but the cell meant death. Death radiated from it, seeping into the atmosphere from every corner and bolt, grabbing onto the guards and trying to wrap them with its cold, chilling embrace. Two guards protected one of these cells at one time, and they switched shifts every two or three hours. Any more than that, and they would begin feeling sick and poisoned; begin hallucinating; unspeakable perils would evoke themselves upon them. More than one hundred guards had died throughout the ages around the cells, mysteriously, and with no signs of reason. They had just dropped down and died. Incidents still occurred, and every now and then a guard would die unexpectedly or vomit for extensive periods of time. Tricky business, it truly was.

The theories as to why this happened were many and varied. Ghosts of the prisoners past, poisonous gas, curses, daedric princes, the list went on. Whatever the reason, it was enough to keep the guards there for only short periods of time, then run to their home and hold their family in their shaking arms, thankful for everything they have. Most who dared to attempt the job quit immediately. Many needed the money however, and forced themselves to deal with it. Needless to say, the job paid well.

And, needless to say, the conditions inside the cells were worse.

No one knew exactly how bad it was, but very, very few kept their sanity, and the ones who did had only been in for a few days. All came out sickly and weak, barely able to function, no matter how long they were in. Easier to kill them that way.

After what seemed like hours, the locks were all undone and a thud rang through the now eerie silence as the heavy door screeched open. Dim light shone into the little, tight space, and revealed a small figure, sitting calmly at the back with her knees drawn up to her stomach. The guard looked at her, puzzled, seeing that, along with her calmness, she was perfectly sane. Perfectly.

After two months of being kept there.

"Hello there, sunshine. You look like you've seen a ghost," the young Dunmer girl said, looking up at them, smiling sweetly, "Have you? I think there may be a few around here."

With a grin, she held her wrists up to them, allowing them to cuff her. She got up by herself, strongly walking into the light. She looked happy, calm, and, most strikingly, beautiful. The hoard of guards waiting to escort her were awestruck; she smirked at their appearance, so hilariously befuddled.

It really was strange, just how vibrant she still was. Her hair, though greasy from lack of wash, was flowing ebony down to the small of her back, and her skin was a gorgeous pale blue. Her eyes were bright red; calm, sane, and attentive, surveying each of the men quietly like a predator does to its captured prey. She was skinny from eating only one meal of stale bread and water each day- though, in truth, she had always been unnaturally lean- and in all, she was small, only about 5 feet tall, and a couple of inches. The girl was no older than 18.

After long moments of stunned silence, the guards finally snapped out of it and seized her, trying to pull her along. She followed obediently, making it difficult for them to do their favorite part of the job: dragging the rotting, scummy prisoners along the floor in the agony that they deserved. None of this was happening, and it frustrated them. Now, trying to make her fall and weaken, they only weakened themselves. Knowing this as she did, feeling their strength slowly dwindle, she could've broken free. But to what gain? She knew she could do ultimately nothing with her hands bound, the cuffs wrapped tightly on her thin wrists.

She also knew, as they walked her, that this was it. She was let out into the light. It was the end of the line.

Better now than never. Who wants to live forever, anyway? She had risked her life more than once, and had always known the risk. Life and death was her business. She was prepared. She was ready.

They soon reached the main hallways of cells for the regular prisoners; thieves, cheaters, assaulters, the occasional innocent. After many moments of walking through the dark, dusty halls of stone and metal bars, prisoners reaching out and groaning for food before their hands were slapped or, in one case, crushed by an agitated, bulky Nord guard, they finally stopped at an old, wooden door. In truth, she was grateful that they had halted, for as strong as she made herself look, she was tiring quickly from all of the sudden movement after seventy days in a cramped metal box with scarcely any food. It scared her a bit that she hadn't walked in that long, and knew that due to her current physical shape, escape would be impossible now. No matter. She was ready.

They opened the door and pushed her in, causing her to stumble and fall harshly onto her knees, bloodying them a bit on the stone floor. Wooden door slammed shut behind her, two guards entering beforehand to guard the exit and watch the prisoner, and the rest guarded the outside. It was pitch black, as dark as the box, and eerily silent. Chills of dim fear and pain trickled down her spine like spiders, making her head fuzz with their silken webs of confusion. Over and over, she told herself she was ready, and perhaps she was, but she felt so naked and alone with her wrists bound, kneeling in a large, dark room, and it escaladed slowly into fear. She dimly thought to herself that she would rather have an execution hood, for her jumpy terror had began to manifest, and she hallucinated shadows and creatures darting to and fro in the darkness. She allowed a single tear run slowly down her dirty face, but no more. She refused to greet Sithis in tears.

Her heart was thumping hard and loud and, for what seemed like hours, she knelt there in anxiety, waiting for the inevitable end to arrive. Suddenly, there was a scratching sound, and a little fire, no bigger than the nail on her smallest finger, lit about four feet in front of her, three or so feet above the ground. It grew no bigger, no smaller, and she assumed that it came from a struck match. It wandered slowly to her left and lit three candles there, illuminating a large, red wooden desk. Atop the desk and to her right was a large, green leather bound book, laced with silver swirls and designs. It was thick and looked heavy, and she faintly wondered what wonder it might contain.

The three flames reached as high as they could to the ceiling, as if they yearned to escape. There sat a quill and inkwell next to them, the feather a luminescent bright white in comparison to the gloomily dark interior of the room. The inkwell shined in the flickering candlelight, holding the liquid potential for beautiful words in its interior.

There were footsteps from somewhere behind the desk- heavy, uneven footsteps- and a little man appeared in the light of the flames. He was clearly an Imperial, and had short, cropped brown hair and bulging green eyes, still small in comparison to his large, round face. He was wearing an expensive, pure white button up shirt, and a green robe lined with the finest furs in all Tamriel. His stomach bulged against his shirt, surprisingly not popping the shining done up buttons, and his neck rolls were so large that they rested onto the collar. He stood unsmiling, breathing heavily and trying to hide it, as he pulled the chair out from behind the desk. He sat down, the chair squeaking and creaking against his weight, crying under the pressure. The man took a deep breath in, exhaled, then reached and grabbed the large book, sliding it in front of him. He opened it to the first page; picked up the bright quill, dipped it in the midnight black ink, and ran it on the paper, creating words unseen to the Dunmer. The Imperial was sitting high above her, since she was still kneeling, and the lack of power angered her. She calmed herself. Being angry helped nothing when waiting for death.

After many minutes of kneeling in silence, her knees stinging painfully and only a little bit of blood still trickling down to the ground, the quill stopped scratching the words onto the paper, and the man put it in the ink, flipping the page as he did so. He coughed a gurgling cough, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief fetched from his pocket, and took another deep breath in, then out. His eyes were fixed on hers, which were lit dimly in the light of the candles, though she was about five feet away. They shined a vibrant red in the darkness, and the man could sense the mystery behind them, into her mind, in her heart. It frightened him, and he hoped to be finished with his job soon. His face remained stern and unemotional.

"Your name?" He grumbled, keeping his voice as steady as he could, maintaining a poker face. She remained silent there, refusing to speak, knowing that he knew her name, and that speaking would be unnecessary. He sighed and repeated again, "Your name?" Still, no answer.

"I could help her talk, sir," a voice from behind her sounded as the sound of an unsheathing sword radiated.

"No, no. What was I thinking? Let's treat her like we should. A guest," The Imperial said, a smile now showing a bit on his fat face. It was fake, an idiot could see that. The Dunmer snarled angrily at him, making fear strike onto his face. He stayed paralyzed for a moment, then returned to his smile.

"But… what do you mean? Sir, she's dangerous. Think of what she's done. Why would you want to…?"

"Unbind her and bring a chair up in front of me. Think of what she's done, men. She's brilliant. Let us treat her well, if only for a little while."

Stunned silence fell between them, even to the girl. And, to her amazement, they followed orders, pulling a chair to the desk and unbinding her. She walked slowly to the chair, rubbing her soar wrists and then her arms. The room was colder than she had thought, now that she was up and moving. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the empty room, and she sped up to the chair, grinding it against the rock floor to pull it out, then sitting gingerly in it, wincing when bending her stinging kneecaps.

"Get her some clean water and bread, will you? She hasn't been fed today. She looks like she's starving," The man said, his eyes once again bulging, "And bring her a blanket, she's shaking like a leaf." A mutter of acknowledgement came from the guards, and word was sent to get the prisoner nourishing food and a warm blanket. It disgusted them.

Moments later, the food came, and a guard reluctantly brought it to the Dunmer. It was set in front of her, the bread still warm with a small slice of butter, and a tall cup of water. Next to it, he sat a bottle of ale and two goblets. A fur blanket was then given to her, and she promptly threw it over her shaking, bare skin, sighing in relief as it immediately began warming her up. Still, she didn't eat, and eyed each item suspiciously, keeping her mouth shut. Seeing this, the Imperial spoke.

"No poison, you smart girl. If we were to poison you, wouldn't we have done it already, back in your box? Why do it now, after taking you here and sitting you down in a comfortable chair?"

"You wish to view my death," She muttered, keeping her vibrant eyes on the plate, "It's understandable."

"You foolish girl, I wish only to speak with you. Truly." Her eyes rose, meeting his, radiating with distrust. The Imperial felt shivers and froze under her gaze, terror filling every inch of his body. He swallowed, then dabbed his forehead and neck with a handkerchief, trying to cover up. He had let his fear of her, a mere child, show once again. A sly grin appeared on her mouth, and she took the cup in her small hand. She rose it to her lips and drank, remembering again that her end was near anyway. She ate the bread, the warm buttery taste filling her mouth, grateful for something with flavor. None of the food was tainted, nor the drink, and poison did not kill her. She was secretly thankful.

"Raena Narile," She said, "My name's Raena."

"Ah yes, of course," the man said, smiling, now retaining his previous stature, and determined not to crack once more. "I'm writing a book, Raena. A book about you. Your life, accomplishments, deeds." a wave of approval shone across her face, then dissolved back into her sly, harsh look that she mostly wore.

"A book? And I'm guessing you think that I'm going to aid you in the creation of this?"

"Well yes, I do." She shook her head.

"I'm not revisiting my past with you, terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

"Raena. Your life. It's been incredible. Please, let Tamriel and the future generations know your story."

She stopped speaking. It would be a chance before her death to show off. To make the world know her amazing feats. No made up stories by children on stormy nights of what might've happened, but a real, set in stone account, made by Raena herself.

"I'm going to die soon, am I not?" Silence met this, affirming her previous thoughts. She nodded her head and took a deep breath. "Very well. I'll do it."

With an excited smile, the Imperial dipped his quill, brought it to the paper, and sketched beautiful words onto the title page. After about a minute or so he was done, signed his name, and turned carefully to the next page, blank and empty, a vast realm for words. He dipped the quill back in, wetting it with a little ink, and put the tip down onto the leaf, glancing up at her, waiting for her to begin.

"From where should I start?" Raena asked, a bit embarrassed at the attention she was given.

"From whenever you believe you should," The Imperial said, shaking with excited anticipation.

"Alright then," She bit her lip, thinking back, pulling the blanket tighter around her still cold body. "Are you ready?"

"Most certainly."

She nodded her head and took a deep breath.

"I woke up in a tavern in Bruma on my sixteenth birthday, mind cluttered and stomach upset, with a bulky Nord lying next to me. With a jolt, I remembered the scattered events of the past night, saw the dried blood under my fingernails, and knew that I had to flee Cyrodiil as fast as I possibly could."

And with that, Raena Narile smiled faintly, and began her story.


	2. The Beginning

It was little more than one year prior that her story had begun and she had woken up in the tavern, in one of the beds that they rented. Her head pounded and stomach hurt, indicating that she had celebrated way too much the last night. Unable to think clearly, Raena rolled to her side and slowly opened her eyes, nearly falling out of the bed at the sight of the Nord she now remembered she had met that night, lying snoring next to her.

She quickly jumped out and onto the floor, grabbing shirt and pants and quickly throwing them on, repeatedly whispering to herself how stupid she was. She pulled up her pants in a hurry, wanting to leave before he awoke, when she saw dried blood under her fingernails and a bit on her thumb. She let out a shriek, then covered her mouth and shook for a few minutes, until she was sure the Nord hadn't woken up. She knelt and continued to shake, holding herself with trembling arms. She couldn't remember what exactly had happened, but she could already hear the screams from outside, yelling that the count had been murdered in the night. A drunken dare gone bad.

She couldn't believe she had actually hurt someone, let alone kill them. It made her want to vomit even more, but she kept it in and began to creep toward the door, tripping due to her idiotic clumsiness and falling loudly onto the ground. A groan came from the bed, and the Nord got up, smiling at her.

"Hello there, bluebird. Nice night it was, eh?" He grinned at her, increasing her need to vomit. Raena cursed herself.

"Yeah, right," She said, giving him a half hearted smile.

"Sixteen, right? Aha, I remember my sixteenth winter. The first time I took down a giant all by my lonesome," he looked up at the ceiling, "I remember it like it was yesterday. You should've seen the way I thrust my longsword, slashing the beast's main arteries with one swipe, stabbing him through the heart as he begged for mercy. The brute's head was mounted on my wall, until I left for the war. Had to sell the old place."

He looked at her, his mouth curved into a charming grin, no doubt the same one that had helped lure her the last night. His dirty blond hair was straight, down to his broad, muscular shoulders, and his green eyes almost sparkled in the shines of early morning light, which shone into the room through the slightly shuttered window. He had stubble on his rough chin, and a long, white scar running from his temple to the middle of his jaw. He was built and handsome, showing why she had been smitten with him the night before, in her drunken state. Now that she was clearer minded, she couldn't believe she had actually slept with a man like him. Such a… Nord.

"Right. Yeah. That's…. impressive." Raena said, faking the enthusiasm in her voice.

"What's wrong witcha, bluebird? Lyin' on yer ass, you look like I startled ya. Did you trip?" He looked inquiringly at her, still sitting under the covers. You could hear the lack of knowledge from his voice, and it infuriated Raena more and more.

"Oh yes, just fell." She still sat there, frozen, hearing the frantic yells from outside calling endlessly. She had to get out, get away from Cyrodiil. With her clumsiness, someone must know that she had done it. She had to get away. Had to.

"I don't' suppose you would uh… want to come back over here for a bit?" He asked, sliding down a little, his eyes enticing her.

"No no, sorry. I need to get going," she said, now hearing the guards searching houses, and, to her great demise, the tavern. "Thank you, I'll see you later or something."

"Yer going to leave me like that?" The Nord asked, throwing his pants partially on as Raena began to grab her bag and open the door. "I deserve more than that, don't'cha think? Come on, don't leave yet."

He followed her out the door, trying to keep her there. The guards were swarmed in the main tavern, interrogating the civilians. Raena grabbed the Nord and hid behind a dividing wall, cursing her stupidity once more. It was loud and crazy, voices yelling in panic and words passed of some seeing a Dunmer sneak out of the hall in the middle of the night. She breathed hard and heavy, clutching her pack to her chest, while the Nord tried his best to entice her. He seemed to not even realize the commotion in the bar, just focused on trying to keep Raena for one more night.

A guard began to make his way towards them. The descriptions of the Dunmer seen running from the hall in the night were extremely detailed, thanks to her drunken clumsiness, and if the guard saw her cowering behind a wall, he would know for sure that it was her. Her head pounded hard and her stomach was doing flip flops. The ability to think clearly was lost, and she was left with a numb body.

The guard came closer and closer, beginning to round the bend.

Without thought, she grabbed the Nord and pulled him to her lips, hiding her face and figure from the guard. The Nord was surprised but didn't miss a blink, quickly recovering from the shock and pulling her closer, his pants beginning to fall, since he had only half done them while running out the room. Raena was disgusted, yet she thirsted for more, and allowed him to squeeze her closer. He released the kiss, grinning at her for a moment, his handsome eyes staring deep into hers, then jerking her in for more. She surprisingly didn't resist, even though the guard had quickly gone off, worried that he had stumbled upon two still-drunken lovers who were about to get very physical behind the wall.

His lips caressed hers with such a gentle passion that she felt she was taken away from the world. All thoughts meant nothing now; the only thing that mattered was him and her and that feeling of sweet paradise. He ran his hand through her hair and met the back of her head, pushing her closer. She wrapped her leg around his, breaking the kiss for a gasp of air, then parting her lips again and leaning in to meet his. They were soft but firm, and tasted of grapes. His stubble tickled her chin and top lip, and she let out a faint giggle. She felt his heart beating hard and fast, and was sure that hers was beating just as crazily.

After a few more moments, she came to her senses and pushed away from his warm embrace.

"I-I'm sorry. I have to go," She stuttered, quickly picking up her pack.

"At least tell me your name, miss," The Nord said, out of breath. "I'm Sven. Sven Blackrock."

She ignored him and began to quickly walk away. He grabbed her at the waist and pulled her toward him again, turning her to face him. He kissed her gently on the top of her head. "Alright bluebird, you don't have to tell me. But if you ever find yourself here again… my bed is always open."

"Right. Thanks." She lingered there for a second, looking into his gorgeous mossy eyes. She then pushed away and grabbed her pack from where she had dropped it on the floor. Holding her pack to her chest and peering around the corner, she saw that the guards were making their way out the door and down the street. She sighed in relief and walked away from Sven, who stayed and watched her go.

Seconds after she had made it outside, someone recognized her.

A nearby guard grabbed at her. She dodged his hands, nearly falling over, then regaining her balance, she began to run as fast as she possibly could out of the city. She nearly tripped a few times, and her bare feet hurt and burned from the sharp rocks, but she made it to the stables without major injury. Without any other choice, she grabbed the nearest horse and rode as fast as it would take her, considerably faster than her pursuers, none of which had horses.

She rode North.

She was able to pass the border without difficulty, and found herself in Falkreath within a matter of hours.

Walking around, she realized that she was still in Imperial territory, and worried that word would soon make its way about her crime. In a split second, she decided she would go further North, to the Stormcloak territory. From her little knowledge of Skyrim, she knew that there was a city in the middle of the province-Whiterun, which was neutral in the conflict- and that Windhelm was where Ulfric Stormcloak himself rules. It would be the safest place for her to go.

She had quickly left Falkreath and was outside the town, in the woods. She sat down on the grass, crossing her legs and putting her face in her hands, crying softly. She felt worse than she ever had in her life. She just wanted to stay there and cry and never leave the cold forest. A few butterflies fluttered by, letting the wind take them where it will, with no care in the world. Birds chirped loudly from the nearby trees, and the sun shone in silver slivers on the forest floor. It was beautiful, and Raena would've appreciated it more had she been able to through her current state.

Raena had never had it easy. She had been an orphan nearly all her life, growing up in a run down, overcrowded warehouse, which they insisted was an orphanage. Boys and girls of all ages, races, and backgrounds were held there, the place like a prison. It was in Bravil, and located near the filthy river that ran through the city. Ah Bravil, the shithole of Cyrodiil.

The building was converted into an orphanage years back, when it was no longer used as a shop, and the businesses had no use, nor the septims, to pay for it as a warehouse. The Great War had left many children orphans; disease and attacks to the cities had killed many mothers, and fathers were slaughtered on the battlefield. Thus, the orphanage was born, stinking and disgusting as the battlefields themselves, minus the blood and plus the children.

Raena's mother had died of fever when she was only a little girl, and she was shipped off to Bravil, where she spent ten miserable years of being covered in mud and filth. There were no beds, no blankets, no efficient sewer system. The windows were boarded up after the first suicide attempt, and the kids were allowed only a little bit of outside time every month. It was hell- worse than hell- and when she was almost fifteen, she had finally escaped. She had been living alone since then, skipping from city to city, wherever work was available.

She had been in Bruma for three days before she had to flee. She had gotten a nice job for once, too, aiding a weaver who owned a clothes shop; dying threads and fabric, sweeping the work station and store, helping dress people in clothes too difficult to dress by themselves. The weaver had even asked if she would like to be her apprentice; an offer that she couldn't pass up. She could've finally had what she had always wanted, and she managed to fuck it all up in one night.

Happy sixteenth birthday to me.

She continued to cry, unable to see through her tears. She wished only to die; to be away from this horrid world. She had nothing to live for.

The sound of heavy hooves clop-clopping their way behind her rang into her ears, far away, but approaching at a mid-trotting pace. They slowed down as they approached her, probably a guard from Cyrodiil, come to kidnap and kill her for her crime.

It stopped behind her. No voices came, no man jumped down, no footsteps approached. With a sting of curiosity, she looked back at the horse through her blurry eyes and saw, to her amazement, that it was the same honey colored one she had stolen from the stable in Bruma. It had the same mane, streaked browns and a color almost peach, and dark chocolate eyes, sparkled with green. She nudged Raena, whinnied, then walked a bit forward on the road. The horse waited there patiently.

Raena laughed in spite of herself. She had left the horse in the woods before she had entered into Falkreath; had even seen he horse turn around and behind to head home. Now here she was, ready to travel with her new owner.

With a sigh and a little bit of hope restored in her (for she no longer felt as lonely), she climbed onto her two trembling feet and wiped the remainder of salty tears from her eyes. She came to the mare carefully, and stroked her shining coat with timid fingers. She felt comfortable with the horse. It turned its head and looked at her almost impatiently, so Raena quickly grabbed onto her pack and then the saddle, and thrust herself up. She kicked gently, and he horse lead away from Falkreath, leaving the birds and butterflies and bridge behind them. She was well on her way to somewhere safe- safer than Imperial run cities, at least- and she allowed herself a moment to relax. Though shaken and scared from her experiences in the past day, there was something extraordinary about the feeling. Though that feeling was small and masked by the fear and sadness, it revealed itself occasionally and dimly, though dim it was in itself.

She stayed in a state of unconscious thought for a long while- hours or days it was, though she could not tell- and she and the mare found themselves exhausted and famished in the outskirts of Whiterun. She knew she was safer here, though with it neither Stormcloak nor Imperial dominated, it still made her feel uneasy. She doubted they would know of her crime, maybe they would never know, but the amount of Imperials and Empire based people made her uncomfortable. So, after a day's rest in the gorgeous little town, she and her horse (who she had named Benezi, the same name as a good friend she had had when she was a child) took off for Windhelm, where she hoped to remake her life.

The last of the dried blood, she had washed off in Whiterun, and she felt refreshed and better put together after a good night's sleep. She was scared and unsure of what would really happen when she got to Windhelm, but there was nothing else she could do. She took a deep breath and just continued on the road.

The initial shock had worn of mostly, though she was still shaken about what she had done. Her head was finally cleared and functioning properly and, with much sadness, the events of that night were remembered.

She had been drunk- atrociously drunk- and the men in the bar were literally drooling over her. One man, whose name was Jalta, and who had a crimson beard which nearly reached his belly button, was moving in on Raena faster than the others. She was far beyond the point of controlling her emotions, and Jalta knew this was his only chance.

"Eyy, bluebird. Ever been in the castle before?" He gestured out the window to the Count's castle. She giggled and shook her head no. "It's real nice in there. Huge, too. Do you know how wealthy the count is? There's gold lining every wall, rubies built into all the chairs, the rugs are made of the finest silk, and the windows are pure crystal. There are chandeliers in every room and the furniture is made of beautiful wood. And the food… oh, if you could only see the food, bluebird. Platter upon golden platter the food comes; roasted boar, fresh grilled vegetables with gravy the color of chocolate, goblets full of the finest wine from Skingrad, chicken pies and fish fillets…"

Raena's mouth was watering and her dark red eyes were sparkling with wonder at Jalta's words.

"And that's only for the main course. Oh yes, there's more. After the main dinner, the whole room is loaded to the ceiling with sweets- apple pies, chocolate, fondue, cakes, and sweetrolls. Sweetrolls the size of your own head." Jalta smiled at her expression.

"You… you mean they get that… every day?" She asked, her voice full of awe.

"They get that whenever they want. Any hour of the day, any day of the week."

"But, Jalta, that's not fair," she frowned at him, "Everyone in the city is starving. Hell, everyone in the province is. Why are they allowed to have all that food?" The anger in her voice elevated by the second.

"Because the world isn't fair, bluebird. The leaders get whatever they want while we're dying underneath them, and they don't even care," He said with a whisper, looking cautiously around. He frowned and stroked the top of her head with his rough, dirty fingers.

"It isn't fair! Why are they the leaders? Who gave them that? That's not fair!" She sounded so similar to a child throwing an angry temper tantrum. She frowned almost comically at him.

"Hush, bluebird. It isn't fair. But what can we do about it? Nothing, nothing at all." He sighed and looked around the room. Sven looked up from his mead and met Jalta's eyes, silently understanding. The plan was working.

"Well… Who says we can't do anything about it? Huh? Who says?" Raena yelled suddenly, grabbing Jalta's shoulder, causing him to spill his drink. "Who says? I say we do something about it!"

"It's not that easy, lass. There's only one real way to get rid of the problem." He continued to keep his voice low, peering around the room. When he was positive no one was paying attention to their conversation, he gently put his hand on her neck, looked into her eyes, and muttered, "We'd have to get rid of the count."

She stood there looking at him, her thoughts blinded by the booze. The only thing she could tell was that she felt sympathetic for these people, and for herself, and for everyone else in the starving province.

"Let's go do it then," she said quietly, her voice full of stupid confidence, "Let's go kill ourselves a count."

Jalta glanced at Sven and grinned. Within moments, Raena found herself surrounded by about seven heavy built Nords. They quickly led her outside and stood out of the reach of the guards' ears. They quietly filled her in on the plan, which she fully accepted, and within moments, she found herself outside of the gate, leading to the outside courtyard of the castle. Sven accompanied and spoke to her, his words like wisps, faint enough so that only she could hear. He held onto her arm, holding her face with his other hand, so that her ear was right next to his mouth.

"You hide in the shadows the whole time. The count isn't married, so he'll be the only one in his room. There may be a guard or two-or more- outside of his room, but the odds of him having anyone inside his room is very small. He's not very paranoid. As for getting past the guards, we'll just have to trust you and your wit, bluebird." He turned her head so that he was looking into her eyes. They were absolutely gorgeous, even in the darkness of the night which surrounded them. Her skin was dark compared to his, and her Dunmer features shone brilliantly in the dim moonlight. Sven had never felt this way about anyone, let alone someone who wasn't a Nord. And the mere fact that these feelings were toward a greyskin? How dare he? But those eyes, and her beautiful smile…

"You'd better stay safe. Ya hear me? That's an order," he said, stroking her soft cheek with his thumb. She nodded, her messy black hair falling around her head in disarray. He sighed and kissed the top of her head, then motioned for her to begin.

She crept slowly out of the shadow and through the gate. She went slowly and clumsily, hiding in the shadows whenever possible. She peered out at the statue, standing alone and unkempt in the middle of the courtyard, already beginning to erode. The young man it portrayed was truly one of the most important in all of history: The Hero of Kvatch; the closer of the Oblivion Gates; the savior of Tamriel. He stood with glory, holding his Akaviri katana strongly in his outstretched right hand, his face grinning in a look of triumph. It disgusted her that the people would allow them to let the statue become so destroyed, no matter the hardships they had gone through the past years.

Who has the money to keep such a statue in repair, Raena?

Nobody. Nobody but the count.

Her rage fired inside of her heart, and she continued on, creeping along and into the surprisingly empty main hall.

She cautiously crept along the walls, soon making it up the stairs without any trouble. There was no one in sight-nobody at all. It unnerved her.

She opened the door to the Count's room, walked slowly in, closed the door behind her, and kept walking in, noticing that there was still nobody in sight. She quickly went into the count's bedroom, accidentally stubbing her toe on the doorway and yelling in pain. She held her breath and looked around, scared out of her mind that she had given herself away, when she realized that the count wasn't there.

As if on cue, the door to the count's room opened and she heard voices- one of a guard and one of a hearty man- from behind her. Her heart nearly stopped, and she dizzily looked around for somewhere to hide. Her woozy eyes met a closet, and she quickly slipped into it.

"Thank you, goodnight," the man said, soon followed by the shutting of the outside door. Footsteps came slowly closer to the bedroom, and stopped abruptly. There was an inquisitive grunt, and the door was swung back and forth a few times.

I opened the door. It was closed when I came in, and I opened it.

She felt sick and wanted to vomit badly, both because of the nerves and the side effects of the alcohol. She took a slow, shaking breath in as quietly as she could. She felt dizzier, but she had to keep steady. Anger pulsed through her veins, and her heart beat with intense fury.

The man eventually walked into the room and looked around for a bit, never keeping his back turned for long. The door had obviously unnerved him, but he soon got hold of himself and went to bed.

Raena drunkenly opened the door of the closet and made her way to him. She was angry beyond belief, and her hatred towards this one man whom she had never met was immeasurable. She was determined to go through with her task.

And that, she did.

After quietly doing the deed and making sure he was dead, she crept out of the room, making sure to close the door behind her, and then began to go into the hall when she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of two large guards on either side of the door. She quickly snapped the door closed, unheard, and leaned against the wall, clutching her shoulders with opposite hands, hugging herself for many minutes.

Use your wit.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried her best to think, but was blocked by the pounding of her head from the alcohol poisoning. She opened her eyes and they fell upon a beautiful wooden bow, which was hanging delicately upon a stand on the wall. The arrows were underneath them, intricately designed with silver swirls and waves, matching those on the bow. She walked over and picked them up, hoisting them over her shoulder, then taking the bow into her hand. It was smooth and slick, and its silver grip was cool under her touch. She snuck back to the door and cracked it open only a bit, so that she could survey the scene below. There had been a party of some sort; stragglers were dancing drunkenly on the floor below, some of which were guards. She looked around, slowly noticing that the walls were not laced with gold, nor were the chairs made with rubies. Matter of fact, it looked almost as bad as some of the houses in Bruma. It was almost as if the count didn't have anything more than the citizens. But why, then, would she have just killed him?

A sudden realization changed her thoughts to the matter at hand. There was a large line of visible cracks in the ceiling, above the floor below. They snaked out and branched, showing that the section of ceiling could disintegrate at any moment. With a deep breath, and checking to make sure that she wasn't seen, she cracked the door open only a little more, equipped her bow, and let the arrow fly to its mark: the very center of the weak spot in the ceiling.

The reaction was immediate. The material crumbled and fell to the floor, followed by the material around it, and so on, until about a third of the ceiling had fallen. Screams erupted from all corners of the room, and the guards ran as fast as they could to the scene.

Raena quickly flew out the door, unseen in the mass chaos, still holding the bow in her shaking hand. She ran into a planter on her way out, sending it smashing to the ground, and bumped a confused woman as she ran into the packed courtyard.

To Raena's surprise, the drunken party-people in the yard were yelling insults at the statue, and throwing rocks at it. Simply idiotic people doing idiotic things for no apparent reason, since they were wasted, but Raena couldn't see that through her own tipsiness. Without thought, she ran to the statue and jumped up so that she was standing swaying next to the Hero, holding onto his leg with her free hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She screamed, waving the bow accusingly at them, "Here stands a great man, and you throw rocks at him as if he were trash! Without this man, our world would be no more. How dare you dishonor him this way? How dare you spit on his memory? You are terrible, every single one of you. Now be gone, you deadra! To Oblivion with you all!"

The crowd gasped, women clutching their chests and covering their mouths dramatically and men glaring unbelievingly at the small Dunmer. She spit at them and jumped down, running from the site and into the town.

When she got back to the tavern, the men were ecstatic. They congratulated her thousands of times and drank more and more, Raena joining them politely, as she felt she could hold no more of the poison in her stomach. She remembered a simple expanding spell she had learned years back and cast it on her pack, slipping the arrows and bow into it easily. The pack didn't look any bigger from the outside, but the inside was as large as a barrel. She had never thought that the spell would come in handy until now, and she quietly thanked her mother for the little spellcasting lessons she had been given before her death.

After about an hour, Sven approached her.

"Bluebird. You followed my command," he laughed and gave her a strong hug, then grinned and kissed her tenderly on the top of the head. Within moments, they found themselves in the bedroom, and they spent the rest of the night together.

By the next day, Sven thought that the events of the past night had been a mere dream, until he, Jalta, and the others were arrested and taken into custody by the Imperials.

Raena stopped on the side of the road and jumped down, looking into her pack. Sure enough, there were the bow and arrows, sitting snugly against the side of the large interior of the bag. Along with them were her favorite book- Feyfolken- and her small dagger. She closed the pack and held it to her chest, looking out at the humongous, terrifying mountains, topped with ghostly snow. She wished only to be home with her beautiful parents, alive and well and happy. Now, she was filled with the strong feeling of despair which came only with the knowing that your life is nearing an impact, unknowing whether it will be good or bad, only that something drastic will happen. Death was the only thing she could associate with this feeling; death was the only experience she had ever had that had changed her life. She felt certain that death was the only thing that would change her, and she worried sickly that it was her death which would soon unfold.


	3. The Dunmer

Raena arrived in Windhelm in a blinding blizzard. Both she and Benezi were freezing, starving, and fatigued beyond measure, thanks to the harsh piles of snow which had been constantly falling on them for the past day. She rode the mare as fast as possible through the blizzard and to the city stable, visible only by the dim glow which came through the windows of the building next to it. She dismounted slowly; her legs were in excruciating pain and all of her muscles were shot from the long, icy ride. She had never ridden a horse before, and riding for days and days had killed her body. She glanced at her hand as she numbly grabbed the pack from the saddle- her extremities were dangerously pale, and she imagined that Benezi was suffering just as bad, if not worse.

She fought the storm, leading Benezi trudging after her, unable to move well under the pressure of the precipitation, slowing her immensely until she feared her legs would give out underneath her. With much trouble, she finally came to the stable.

"Miss? You alright?" a young Dunmer stableboy, perhaps a few years older than her, yelled through the storm.

"My horse. She needs a warm place to stay for the night. Do you have any extra stalls?" she called back, now standing next to the horse, holding onto her for strength. The Dunmer ran to her and took the leads, walking Benezi under the wooden canopy and into a stall. He threw a large wool blanket over her back and filled the food trough with food and grain. Closing the door, he turned around to face Raena.

"She'll be fine, don't worry. Horses are pretty hardy animals. She'll recover by the morning." He offered a smile, which was dimly returned.

"How much do you need?" she asked, grabbing her pack and pushing her frozen, numb hand into the huge interior, searching for what little she had. She shivered when her hand touched the bow, so safely tucked into the corner of the magically bloated sack. "I only have a few septims with me right now, but I'll pay you back, I swear, I swear on my mother's grave I will."

"Ah, I won't charge you. You look terrible. Come on, let's go inside. I'll make you something to eat." She stared at him nervously, running her fingers through her hair, unable to feel its smoothness due to the dangerous frostbite which had begun to seep into her flesh. He chuckled and gestured toward the door. "Come on now, I won't hurt you. A few septims will only get you a room for one night at the inn, and I don't want you to starve. You look like you're dying."

She reluctantly followed him inside, and was immediately thankful that she had. A large fire roared in a fireplace across the room, beginning to warm her the second the door closed, and the smell of cooked meat and baked bread wafted dreamily into her nostrils. A painting of a deer adorned one wall, and a small, red rug lay welcomingly toward the door. She smiled and sighed, releasing her hands from her hair. The stableboy walked over to a counter, which had a bowl full to the top with pastries, and waved her over. Since following his directions had helped her thus far, she quickly came to him.

"I baked these this morning, take one." She picked up a sweetroll and took a bite. Her body rejoiced and sang praises to the Dunmer.

"Thank you. Oh, thank you so much," she said through a mouthful of bread. He smiled and walked to the fire, stoking the flames and prodding the contents inside a pot, which was hanging over the flames.

"Why Windhelm?" he inquired, picking up some herbs from the mantelpiece and dropping them into the beautifully smelling mixture.

"Why? What do you mean?" she asked, walking to the fire and standing next to him with a half-eaten roll still in her cold hand.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" he scoffed, "Dunmer who stumble here are here for one of three reasons, and three reasons only: they're refugees, they're escaping the Empire, or they have nothing left to live for." He looked up from the pot and stared intently at her, "which one are you?"

"Escaping the Empire," she said after a few moments. She had been nervous to tell him, but she thought that she could trust him.

"Ah, I had you pegged as a refugee," he said, looking back at the pot and smiling, "What did you do, may I ask?"

Silence met this. Her hands found her hair again and she ran her fingers through the length of it, her sense of touch restored to her. She stroked softly through it, the silky strands separating and twirling. Their deep red eyes met, the Dunmer never stilling his hands from stirring the pot. His cheekbones were high and almost pointy- the true Dunmer style- and his red hair was tied back loosely in a high tail. It contrasted brilliantly with his dark grey-blue skin, which stretched beautifully across the surface of his body. He had modest muscles, not as defined as a Nord's but still very great for one of their race, showing that working the stables required much more than just leading horses into stalls and throwing a few apples in a bucket. He looked away, down at the contents of the pot. His chin stuck out to a tip and his long, pointy ear curved up across the side of his head. There was a small scar on the side of the bridge of his blue nose, shining gently from the flames. A few strands of hair were loose and floating around the sides of his face messily, gleaming gorgeously, mixes of copper and sanguine from the color of the fire.

"Well, I'm a refugee," he started, taking a quick taste of the liquid and then adding a few more herbs, continuing to stir. "Grew up in Vvardenfell my whole life. Balmora. When the Red Mountain erupted, I was lucky enough to escape before it destroyed the city." He paused, looking deep into the crackling flames. "There's nothing left of the island anymore. It's all burned ruin, ashes and dust. Melted to nothingness. I've met some others who were able to flee. A lot of them are hopeful for the future. Some think that eventually, given time, Vvardenfell will become inhabitable again, if not within their lifetime, maybe their children's, or their children's children's. I think it's just wishful thinking." He sighed and added some water.

"Why's that?" she asked quietly, knowing how painful memories were when they were gnawing at your brain, and knowing that sharing them was worse.

"You should've seen the place. Smoke rose as high as you could see, burning your lungs to ash and smothering all life in one second. I couldn't stop coughing black shit up for a month. Everything, absolutely everything, was black with the ashes within moments. All life that couldn't flee fast enough perished, my whole family and all of my friends and all of the city being part of that category. I'm sure I'm not the only one who escaped from Balmora… but I haven't met any other survivors. The trees and flowers and animals seemed to weep with the pressure of the black smoke. There was no time to save anyone. It was either you saved yourself to your best ability, or you died. Some think that in my situation, they would've been able to pull people along with them, urging them to keep going, saving many more lives. They weren't there. It came upon us lighting fast. Nobody was prepared. There was no way to do anything but save yourself, if you could even do that. Please. Just, please. Don't think of me as a coward for not aiding the slow and the weary and the weak. I had no other choice." He looked up at her, and she nodded her head solemnly. He looked back down. "There's no hope for Vvardenfell. None at all."

They stood close together, and Raena put her hand on his shoulder for a moment caringly. He smiled and looked up at her, appreciation in his eyes.

"Although, I doubt anyone will miss those goddamned cliffracers," he said, staring at her for a second, then erupting into laughter, doubling over and holding onto the mantle for support. She laughed with him a bit awkwardly, unsure of what the joke meant but joining him politely.

"I'm Kaiviin," he said, after controlling himself, extending his hand out to her. His voice had an undertone of raspy-ness, characterized to those who were natives to Morrowind. It wasn't the true, harsh sound, but there was a mild amount of it in his voice. The Dunmer in Cyrodiil tended to have higher and much clearer voices than their Morrowind counterparts, and Raena guessed that the Dunmer of Skyrim had distinct differences as well. Her own voice was high and clear, almost the same as an Imperial but still with a bit of a difference that she just couldn't put her finger on. The more he spoke, the more she realized that Kaiviin's voice was much clearer than a pure native's, and she dimly wondered whether he was purposely speaking like this, or if he had had a parent of another race. She knew he hadn't lied about his heritage; it was clear that he was from Morrowind.

"Raena." She grasped his hand in hers, easily half the size of his and three times smoother. The long hours working had roughened his skin into leather. Still, the embrace was warm and welcoming, and she felt grateful to have met him instead of another stableboy.

"Raena, what a gorgeous name. I believe it used to be very common in Morrowind, too." He let go of her hand, grabbing two bowls and ladling beefy brown soup into them.

"My mother's grandmother moved to Cyrodiil with the love of her life when she was fourteen. Her family hadn't like the boy- my great grandfather- and had disapproved of their relationship, so they decided to run away together to Cheydinhal. My geeat-grandmother's name was Raena." She felt rather uncomfortable talking so much about herself, even though she hadn't said a lot. It was something she had never had to do before; the children in the orphanage hadn't cared, nor had any of her numerous employers. She never made friends in the cities that she worked, knowing that she would move on within a few months to a new town, and her only exception had been when she was celebrating- and making stupid, drunken decisions- with the Nords in Bruma. Even then, friendship wasn't implied (until she was wasted beyond belief and thought of them all as her best buddies) and she hadn't said anything aloud about herself to them.

"I thought you sounded Cyrodiilian!" he exclaimed, smiling and handing her the white clay bowl, "You like goat?"

"Even if I didn't, I'd eat it right now," she laughed, smelling the delicious scent wafting from the food. They walked to the table- small and made of wood, only able to seat about four people- and the moments Raena sat down, she began to devour. Kaiviin smiled and ate his slower.

After a few minutes of silence, Raena looked up from her food and inquired, "Why don't Dunmer come here?"

His lips pursed and he put the wooden spoon down, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry to say that the Stormcloaks aren't the nicest to people who aren't Nords. Dunmer are treated almost the worst of all races, with Khajiit and Argonians maybe being tied for first. Hell, at least they let us in the city."

"They don't let the Khajiit or Argonians into the city?" she asked in awe, remembering the vast diversity and acceptance of Cyrodiil.

"Rarely. They treat their trash better than they treat them. And us." He sighed and stabbed his spoon into a hunk of goat, sending drops of golden liquid splattering all over the table. "We're confined to what they call the 'Grey Quarter'. It's filthy and old and rotting. The district where the Nords live? Spotless. Gorgeous. Perfect. All of our food is given to us infested witht bugs nand mold. The food here is fine, don't worry," he said, in response to her expression of disgust, which she hdan't intended showing. "I'm the only Dunmer working out here. I was lucky to even get a job outside the Grey Quarter."

"How did you get it?" she asked, back to eating.

"I'm a mediocre netch herder. My aunt and uncle had a farm on the outskirts of Vivec. I visited them once every year, and they'd try to teach me how to handle them. Once, one got aggressive- a bull- and I was the only one around to control it. Although netch are nothing at all like horses, I lied to the owner of this stable that netch was a special kind of horse. Nords are extremely ignorant of everything that isn't about Skyrim or drinking or Sovngarde."

"He believed you?"

"He didn't believe me much, no, but enough to hire me. At the time, he had lost one of his best stableboys, and he couldn't afford to go without another had around here. He basically had no choice but to hire me." He stirred around in his bowl, his elbow on the table and cheek in his palm, looking into the soup swirling in gentle circles with the motion of his spoon. "Turns out, horses are a whole lot easier to handle. They never go hostile."

"Netch are easily aggravated, I take it?" she smiled, embarrassed at her lack of knowledge of Morrowind, being a Dunmer and all.

"Oh yeah. The females go ballistic at just about anything, and the bulls are always on edge during mating season. They have a pretty potent poison which will paralyze you, and eventually kill you. Messing with them is not a good decision. But when you know what bothers them and how to avoid it, they're extremely gentle. I used to look forward to those trips just so I could go sit in the pastures with them floating along all around me, as smoothly as if in water. They're gorgeous creatures- they look like giant, smooth clouds of blue and pink jelly. They have long, think legs that trail along behind them as they slowly fly above you. They're beautiful."

She smiled, able to see them in her mind. She was thankful that Kaiviin didn't dislike her because of her ignorance of Morrowind and Vvardenfell. He seemed to be one of the only accepting people left on Nirn.

"I killed the Count of Bruma, because the rebel Nords wanted power. I was drunk and not thinking clearly. I fled here." Raena looked up to meet Kaiviin's eyes, which were filled with surprise, then whipped away from hers.

"I thought you were a thief or something. A murderer?" His voice was filled with awe and, do her dismay, disappointment.

"Well technically, I am a thief. That horse out there, I had no choice but to steal." She braced herself for the huge reaction from Kaiviin, but none came. He simply looked down again, taking a few spoonfulls of soup into his mouth.

They stayed in silence for a while, Raena's stomach churning with anticipation for him to snap, to throw her out into the cold, to become nothing better than trash.

"Other than the fact that you were drunk… why did you do it? Power?" he asked, breakig the uncomfortable silence.

"I thought they were being treated badly- the Nords and other civilians of Bruma- so I just… did it. When I thought of how they were being treated, there was no other choice in my mind. I didn't know they just wanted power. I see that now." She thought sadly about Sven.

"Then it's understandable," he smiled, "At least you don't have a Nord's heart. I should've guessed you wouldn't just kill to kill, or kill to rule."

Raena sighed in relief, Kaiviin having been the only person she had told, and had still been honestly accepting of her. She was overcome with grief and thankfulness and anger and joy from all of her experiences in the past few days, and before she knew what her emotions were doing and what was happening, she was curled up on her chair, bitter sweetly crying her bloodshot eyes out. Kaiviin ran to the other side of the table and embraced her, rubbing her back brotherly and whispering words of comfort.

She soon pulled herself back together, and he let go, pulling a chair up next to her and sitting in it sideways to face her. He held her hands in his as she gasped for air, her lungs still galloping from the fierce sobbing, struggling for air, and making painful sounds when trying to breathe. She was finally able to breathe again, and squeezed his hands in appreciation.

"There's no way to change the past, Raena," he said, "You just have to accept what's happened and make the best out of what you have left."

And just like that, Raena Narile had made her first friend in ten years.


	4. The Child

"I'm hungry," Raena remarked. She and Kaiviin were in Windhelm, roaming the streets of the Grey Quarter on a partly cloudy Turdas afternoon. The city was just as disgusting as Kaiviin had said a week ago, when she had arrived at the stable and met him, the brother she had never had. Even after only a week, Kaiviin also knew that she was like a little sister to him; their bond had grown tremendously. Since she had nowhere to stay or work, he gladly let her live at his house: a little room above a tavern, which was located in the Grey Quarter. It wasn't much and it cost an unfair price, but it was cleaner than other places and it was somewhere to sleep, after all.

Raena promised Kaiviin that she'd pay him back when she could for all the things he had done for her, but he insisted that it was alright. She didn't eat much, she didn't make a mess out of his things, and she shared the bed with him, so it wasn't unlike when he was living by himself. Except, of course, for the fact of her company.

Kaiviin looked over at her. He had gotten her some new clothes- a cheap dress of patched green fabric and a fraying cloth corset- which had cost only five gold; not much considering the little maintenance she required. He would've gladly paid more.

She was wearing the dress, the wrinkled, stringy fabric a clover green, the corset being the only thing to show her small figure. She was about a foot and a half shorter than him- he was taller than most and she was smaller than most. She held the handles of a basket in her right hand, which she had made a few days before, while he had been at work. It was sloppily done- the weaver who had hired her in Bruma had weaved baskets, too, and Raena only had time to learn a few things- but it served its purpose quite well.

Her hair was braided to the side of her head, with a few inches of hair free at the end of the braid, lying on her chest. Some of her loose, straight hairs rested on the sides, messy but not unattractive. Her light blue-grey skin shined in the sunlight, accentuating the darkness of her hair. Her deep sanguine eyes sparkled and her lips were curved into the smile that she wore almost all the time. Her pointy ears were flat against her head, the tip of one peeking out from behind her thick braid. She was very pretty- gorgeous even- but Kaiviin never found himself attracted to her. Even when they were sharing the bed, he never felt any sexuality towards her, not even when she would curl up with him on awfully cold nights, when their bodies would become entwined within each other. Raena thought the same thing and, although they never discussed it, they both knew where their feelings towards each other stood.

"I'm hungry, too. Let's go get something to eat," Kaiviin said, going towards the exit of the Grey Quarter.

"Where are you going?" Raena asked, her braid bouncing with the movement as she stumbled to catch up with him.

"I'm sick of eating trash when I'm not at work. Let's go treat ourselves." He took her hand and led her through the crowd, into the market quarter. Booths were in the circle, a few buildings with shops around the perimeter. They were all Nords, except for one Altmer vender, and they all glared angrily at them.

Kaiviin went up to the Altmer, who was selling a whole assortment of things. She continued to glare, her bright yellow-tinted skin shining even from the shade of her booth, and her long blond hair was perfectly pristine, pulled tightly back into a high, regal bun. Altmer were obviously more respected than the Dunmer here.

"Do you have any fresh meat?" Kaiviin asked. His hair was in his usual messy ponytail, and he had a gleaming gold earring on the tip of his left ear. He had more holes on his ears, and one on his nose, but he never wore them all, and he absolutely never wore the one on his nostril. Raena assumed it was because of the Nord's already low tolerance of the Dunmer. What would they think if Kaiviin had worn them all at once? Showing so much Dunmer heritage would've been a good way to get himself killed.

"Yeah, sure. I have some meat," she said, reaching down and picking up a box full of it. All of it was old and rotting, with flies buzzing noisily around the stench. She smirked, "That'll be fifty septims for one piece."

"Fifty septims?" Kaiviin exclaimed, his eyes growing redder, "That meat isn't even good! Just because we're Dunmer doesn't mean we don't deserve decent food!"

Raena was full of anger, but kept her mouth shut, afraid of speaking. The Altmer put away the meat and shrugged, keeping that same smug smile.

"I guess I can't help you then," she said, chuckling and crossing her arms, shifting her weight to one side and smirking.

Kaiviin walked away, touching Raena's shoulder as he went to get her to follow. She reluctantly did, wanting instead to lash out at the woman, but being too shy to do it, and knowing that it would kill any bit of good reputation Kaiviin might have.

"There's no way we'll get anything from the other vendors," he said, grabbing her hand, obviously upset and needing some comfort.

"That's unfair," she said, squeezing his hand and stroking the edge of his palm with her thumb. He sighed and they walked away, into one of the Nord living districts.

Beautiful mansions lined the street, made of gorgeous wood and stone. The paved walkways were of dark tessellated rock, and pretty green plants grew neatly on the sides. Large bushes and trees reached around, their dark green, waxy leaves reflecting light from the bright snow. Yellow butterflies fluttered through the streets, and small birds flew from rooftop to rooftop, singing their sweet song in a lovely melody. They made her heart ache for Sven. She immediately pushed the hurt aside.

"But mom! I want to go play with Aventus!" a little Nord child whined, who was standing about fifteen feet away from them. He had a head of messy dark blond hair and was only about eight.

"No! You can never go see him, never again. You know what he's been doing," the mother exclaimed, her eyes full of panic and fury.

"I don't understand though! What's wrong with the Black Sacrament?"

Raena and Kaiviin both froze. They looked at each other in awe.

"You're too young, you can't understand. No. Come. Go inside with me. Now." She grabbed the boy by the arm and began to drag him away. He looked longingly at an old house at the side of the street, which had obviously not been cared for for a long time.

Then they were gone, and Raena and Kaiviin were left to stand in surprise.

"Did you hear…?" Kaiviin muttered, the rasp in his voice more pronounced than usual. His eyes were wide with horror and concern.

"We need to do something," Raena stated, determination and excitement in her voice, "We're going to do something."

"What can we do? The kid might be dangerous. I think we just need to tell a guard, or get a Nord to, since they wouldn't take us seriously."

"It sounds like it's common knowledge around here. Kai, we need to do something," she begged, clinging onto his arm, looking up at him with a sad face.

"We… we can try the door. If we get in, fine. But if things get bad, you run. Run as fast as you can. Alright?" He gently grabbed her shoulders, making her face him, their eyes staring into each other's. "Alright?"

"As long as you run with me," she said stubbornly, touching his cheek, "because I won't leave without you."

He sighed and hugged her tight, then nodded his head and held her hand, pausing to tuck a wild piece of black hair behind her ear. They walked to the door of the house and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, this time a bit harder. Snow was piled high all around the entranceway, and the windows were all iced over, as was the door handle. There was no noise coming from inside. The only footsteps in the snow around the house were theirs; a set of big and little.

Still, no answer.

"Well, that's that," Kaiviin sighed, making himself turn around, beginning to walk away.

"But! But we didn't even go in!" she yelled. She ran to him and tripped on her own feet, falling harshly onto her hands and knees. Her palms were immediately scratched and cut, bleeding deep red into the pure white. The snow chilled her the second she collapsed, bare skin touching it, and she began to shake violently.

Kaiviin picked her up in his arms like a groom would do to his bride and carried her back to the tavern. The cold numbed the pain, and she lay in his arms, angrily cursing him, telling him he was a coward and a toddler and a scared little Bosmer. He merely laughed and shook his head, trying to keep her as warm as possible in his arms.

He placed her gently into a chair when they got to the tavern, and came down with a blue wool blanket after a moment or two. He wrapped it lovingly around her shaking body, and then tended to her wounds. She squeezed her eyes at the slight stinging pain. It could be worse, but then again, it could be better.

He was finally done cleaning and gently bandaging the cuts, having to replace them every few minutes because of the insistent bleeding, which stained them crimson. He then took a piece of cloth and dampened it, squeezing the excess water out back into the jug, the water falling off of it in little waterfalls, hitting the liquid in the container with loud plops. He kneeled in front of her and raised the rag to her cheek, wiping the bit of blood she had gotten on it, moving the rag in small circles with only the littlest bit of pressure. He concentrated with all of his being on her face and all of the dirt and grime and blood she had managed to get on it somehow- it was like that nearly every day, except for the blood, and he was never sure how she was able to get so filthy. She merely smiled and let him do it, knowing he would only scold her for rejecting his care.

"Are you like this with other people?" she asked after a little while of sitting in silence, wrapping the blanket closer and tighter around her body.

"Like what?" he inquired, squinting his eyes as he moved onto her dress, pushing the blanket back only a little, trying to get the mahogany blood stains out the best he could.

"Like this. You always make sure I'm clean." He looked up at her and shook his head, laughing. He went back to scrubbing the dress, his handsome face continuing to smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Alright then." She looked over at the dim fire, lit only by a few logs. The faded tapestries were hung next to it, showing symbols of some kind. Kaiviin would probably know, but she didn't care much to ask. The walls were made of old, crumbling, dark stone, and above her was splintering wood. Holes shone the upstairs through, and you were able to see nearly everything going on the floor above. She was glad that she and Kaiviin's room was located in a place where the floor was better and there were no holes, so nobody could spy on them. As if it would matter, anyway.

The bar wasn't very busy, since it was only late afternoon and most men weren't off of work yet. There were still some customers, a few of which Raena had seen and one or two she hadn't. The ones she had seen were the regulars; the Dunmer who were here no matter what time of day or what day of the week. She had never come to the bar and had not seen them, and she honestly wondered whether they slept or ate at all. It was like they were permanently sat in their stools, their hand around a mug and their other on the counter or their crotch or, if a poor young woman paid a visit, in the cleavage or pants of an innocent girl. She had once been in that place, a few days ago, when she had nearly been groped by a regular with slightly squinted, black eyes and an earring in the bridge of his nose. Kaiviin snatched her away just in time, threatening the man, and all of the other men and regulars in the bar at the time, that if they ever dared lay a hand on her, they'd answer to him. Some snickered at Kaiviin, but they all seemed to ready obey his order, and none had attempted anything on her since.

Kaiviin finally seemed somewhat pleased with what he had done and put the rag back onto the table, getting up from his now squatting position and pulling a chair up beside hers, at an angle, so he could face her. He sat down, leaning on the table and sighing as he looked at the fire with her.

"They don't even give them enough firewood," he remarked, "I never thought that people could be so heartless, and there were people in Morrowind who still had slaves."

"That's really saying something about these Nords, if you're saying they treat us worse than slavers," Raena said, astonished at his comment.

"It's true," he stated, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back, crossing his leg and putting his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes and rested, the faintest hint of a grin on his face.

Raena closed the blanket even more around her, curling up with her legs huddled on her chair, staring wonderingly at the fire. She noticed the sting in her hands only a little, and her knees were merely sore. She took a few moments to undo her braid and fix it again, looping each strand tightly and smoothly. She ruffled the hair at the bottom and then ran her hands down the thick braid, feeling the slick bumps which occurred in beautiful pattern.

By the time she was done, Kaiviin had fallen asleep, snoring quietly. His chest rose in deep breaths with his mouth open only a little, his arms still behind his head. A Dunmer by the name of Vaval brought them both large cups of strong mead and Raena downed it within seconds, soon requesting another. After her second mug, she shook him lightly awake, and he slowly opened his eyes. He found the filled-to-the-brim mug and disposed of half of it into his stomach in the blink of an eye.

Within minutes, they were both sufficiently tipsy.

"I'm bored," Kaiviin remarked, slumped lazily in his chair, his elbow resting on the surface of the table, "Drinking's boring."

"No it's not!" she giggled, taking another swig and wiping her mouth off on the back of her hand, "Drinking's fun!"

"It gets boring after a while," he frowned, moving the liquid around in his mug by moving his wrist while holding the cup, watching the mead wave around the glass. He took another drink.

"We should go do something, then," she said, putting her drink down so that she could wrap the blanket around herself again. It had fallen in her drinking frenzy and, despite the fact that alcohol warmed you to the bone, she was still very cold from her incident earlier that evening. Kaiviin nodded, looking into his cup as he swirled the mead again.

"Do you think there's a way to have sex with the daedric princes? I mean, I know I shouldn't want to, but Azura is just… hey!" he yelled, reacting to the sudden push from Raena, which had spilled some of the mead on his clothes, "Listen, I'm sorry sis, I didn't know you felt so strongly about the daedra…"

"No no, it's not that. I know what we can do. We need to go see the Aventus boy!" she said, getting up and swaying on her two shaking feet, dizzy at the sudden movement.

"What? Oh, that boy. No Rae, that's dangerous. You know that. Plus, the door's locked. You'd get arrested," he slurred, his voice with the strong undertone of harshness which was more than usual.

"But I want to go see him!" she whined, grabbing onto his arm and falling to his lap, losing the blanket as she did so. "I know how to pick locks! Come on, please?"

He sighed, chugging the rest of the mead in his mug, then nodded his head. She squealed and hugged him, then jumped up and waited for him to follow her lead. He reluctantly stood up, having to hold onto the table for support, and took a deep breath.

"I'll be right back. Don't move." He walked up the stairs and she waited obediently by the door.

He came back down moments later, Raena's pack slung over his shoulder. The stairs creaked noisily with each step, and one of the regulars shot him an annoyed look. He grabbed another mead from the counter, throwing it the pack while sliding a few septims to the bartender, then walked over to her.

"Bow and arrows, just in case. A lockpick so we can get in. A health potion and magicka potion, a loaf of bread, and my dagger. Feyfolken in case you're bored, mead because I know we'll need it." He smirked and she let out a little giggle, smiling up at him. He closed the pack and handed it to her, throwing some septims onto their table before exiting the building. She swung the strap over her shoulder, the loop nesting comfortably around her torso, her bag resting on her left hip.

Kaiviin stopped her and reached into the bag, grabbing his dagger and putting it on the space on his hip, easy to reach in case of an emergency. Its metal was steel with an oak handle, and slid into the leather pocket on his side easily. The dagger would've been remarkably uninteresting, but over the years he had carved different patterns of ivy and symbols into the wood, and the blade radiated a faint yellow light. She realized it was spelled, and spelled very strongly, making up for the little damage the blade itself would do. She looked strangely at him. He muttered, "Just in case."

They made it to the house as the sun set fully and night crept onto the land. Raena had, in the meantime, put new bandages on her hands, throwing the old ones on the side of the street. Nobody would care. Bloody rags were the least of their problems here.

Her palms were still sore and stinging a bit, but she disregarded it, putting the new bandages on so as to try to block out any additional pain. If she had to grab the bow and arrows, she couldn't be bitching about her hands. It would kill her concentration.

Raena reached into the bag and rummaged around, unable to see in the dim moonlight. Kaiviin offered his dagger; the glow helped her along a little, but it was still difficult to find the tiny lockpick. She finally got it and held it in her trembling, cold hand, kneeling in the snow in front of the door. She broke the thin layer of ice which had formed on the handle and lock, and slid the pick smoothly in, trying to find the sweet spot. It would turn, then clunk, and she would release it before it broke, then move it a bit more, and a bit more, jumping at each unsatisfactory clunk it would issue when she was at the wrong spot. Kaiviin kept watch, swaying but attentive.

"Shit." She pulled out a broken pick, embarrassed. Kaiviin merely laughed and reached into his breast pocket, pulling another one out and tossing it to her.

"You think I would've trusted you to be able to open it with only one?" He smiled and turned around, "I have ten more where that came from."

"What? Why?" she asked, smiling while messing with the lock.

"You're clumsy," he stated, smirking. She rolled her eyes at him and let out a chuckle. "I find them every once and a while, inside barrels and whatnot. I figured I might as well keep them. Just in case."

"You say that a lot," she mumbled, her concentration focused on the lock, "'Just in case.' It's like you're constantly preparing for an apocalypse."

"That's because I am."

Silence proceeded, except for the jiggling of the lockpick and the soft singing of the grasshoppers. It was now pitch black; the stars pierced out from the blanket of darkness, flickering and shining, lighting up the snow on the ground. Their breath was a visible white fog, which danced out of their mouths and pirouetted to the moons.

"Got it," she breathed excitedly, hearing the confirming click as the lock was opened. She creaked the door open, breaking the thicker ice which had encased the edges. Some of it fell to the ground, landing softly and quietly in the snow.

The soft voice of a small child drifted down to them, chanting mysteriously, seemingly begging.

"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

Raena grasped Kaiviin's hand, her heart thumping with anticipation and fear. He squeezed it and led them into the house, protectively going first. She stayed close behind, hiding in his shadow.

"Night Mother, why aren't you listening to me? I've been doing this for days. I haven't had time to eat or sleep. Come on, please. Please. Why won't you listen to me?" he cried. Raena stroked Kaiviin's hand and let go, finding no threat. He released, but drew his dagger.

They stayed in the shadows all the way up the stairs, until they found themselves in an extremely messy room. The bookshelf and a small table were overturned, books were strewn on the dirty floor, mold and dirt caked the walls and ceiling. The little bit of food was old and green, and a brown mattress lay in the corner. A little, fraying teddy bear was sat in the middle of the few, faded blankets, tilted to his side and staring sadly at them.

They continued to sneak in the shadows. Raena bumped into the only standing table, knocking the lone candle onto the ground noisily. The flame was put out in the fall, and they were left in complete darkness, except for the dim light from the room over.

The chanting stopped.

A small boy of no more than eight years old walked into the room, his features lit by the light of the room he had come out of. He was less than half the size of Kaiviin and had dark brown hair and green, bloodshot eyes. There were humongous bags under his eyes- dark, ugly, brownish-purple- and he looked skeletal. His skin was pale, his lips paler, and it was clear that he was extremely malnourished. Who knew how long it had been since he had stopped his droning chanting.

"It's you!" he cried, running and embracing Raena around her waist, shoving his face into her stomach. He sobbed tears of joy and extreme exhaustion; sweet, absolute relief. Raena stood, shocked, and then put her arms around the boy, stroking through his hair with a loving hand. He shook violently and held on as tight as he could with his weak, dwindled muscles. Raena leaned down and looked into his eyes.

"You look so weak. Come, sit down and eat," she said, grabbing his hand and gently pulling him to the table.

"But… but…" he whispered, "I need to tell you who I want you to kill. I asked the Night Mother and she sent you."

"You can eat first," she said, "and then sleep for a while." Even though she was tipsy, her concentration was sharp and she was very attentive. She was nowhere near as drunk as she had been the night in Bruma.

Kaiviin, on the other hand, was not doing as well. He had managed to drink a little more than her, and was feeling the consequences, though it shocked her how well her alcohol tolerance was.

"How often do you drink?" he asked, slurring only a bit, his voice extremely raspy and barely understandable. She glanced over at him."

"I've had a hard life."

Aventus sat down and Raena handed him the loaf of bread they had taken with them. He ate the whole thing within seconds and then grabbed a piece of cheese from the middle of the dusty table. It was old and moldy, but he didn't seem to care. Raena dug in her pack again and grabbed the booze, swigging a drink and then passing it to the boy. He drank timidly, squeezing his eyes against the taste but drinking anyway. He handed it back, muttering a thank you, and then shoveling the rest of the cheese into his mouth. Raena took another sip and handed it to Kaiviin, who chugged the rest down.

"And you're asking how often I drink?" she laughed, shaking her head, her arms crossed across her stomach.

"I only drink when I'm stressed," he responded, grinning, "This isn't the most carefree experience in Nirm," he whispered, only loud enough for Raena to hear. She smiled and rubbed his shoulder appreciatively.

"Aventus," Raena started, pulling Kaiviin over by the arm and then sitting on the table. Aventus swallowed what was in his mouth and smiled at her with immense thanks and love.

"Thank you, thank you so much. Is it time for me to tell you… tell you what I want done?" he asked, looking nervous yet excited, shaking a little and rubbing his leg.

"Well…" Kaiviin started, the harshness in his voice deep and clearly audible, "Aventus, you see, we're not…"

"We're not sure why you'd want someone killed," Raena said, cutting him off, "You see, we usually deal with older people. I've never met a child who wanted such a gruesome thing." Kaiviin shot her a look, and she stared back sadly. She didn't want to leave the child yet, and the sense of adventure was welling up in her gut.

"I want the witch who runs the Riften orphanage killed," he stated, tears forming in his eyes, his voice wavering, "I want her dead. So dead, not even a necromancer could resurrect her. She needs to be killed. Needs to be."

Ranea looked at Kaiviin. Their eyes met in equal confusion and worry. Although he was drunk, he was able to understand the situation and the seriousness of it. The initial effects of the alcohol were starting to wear off for both of them, but Kaiviin was still suffering the effects.

"Listen, Aventus, we aren't going to do that. I'm sorry, but we aren't members of the Dark Brotherhood, and we're going to tell someone that you need help. Where are your parents?" Kaiviin asked, his accent now completely prominent in his speech. Aventus looked at him with inquiring eyes.

"I can't understand you…" he muttered, his head faintly tilted to the side.

"Where are your parents?" Raena asked, purposely translating only a bit of what Kaiviin had said.

"Dead," he answered, "I lost dad in the civil war, and my mom died of a disease a little afterward. Count Ulfric had me sent off to the orphanage. None of us were allowed to ever get adopted. Ever. The witch hurt us. We wouldn't do anything wrong, and she'd hurt us. I don't think that a day went by that we wouldn't get beaten," he cried, his face contorted into an ugly, depressing expression, and he emitted choking words from his convulsing throat. Raena jumped to the ground and lunged, grabbing the child, holding him close to her as tears rolled rapidly down her own cheeks. She ran her fingers through his hair and rubbed his back, pressing her head to his shoulder as he squeezed her and shook. Kaiviin stood idly beside, watching the scene before him with confusion.

They separated and looked at each other, no longer weeping.

"My… my parents died the same way," she said, rubbing her eyes and the stroking through the bit of hair at the bottom of her now messy braid. "I'm sorry that you had to go through the same thing I did," she sniffled, rubbing her nose with one hand.

"We aren't helping him," Kaiviin stated sternly, his Morrowind diction still too hard to understand for Aventus. Her head shot up.

"What? How could you say that?" she growled, staring him straight in the eyes.

"You aren't thinking clearly."

"You aren't either! You're more drunk than me!"

They stared angrily at each other, both wondering why the other thought the way they did. Kaiviin didn't back down.

"It's the Dark Brotherhood. It's murder."

"Weren't you the one who said that murder is acceptable when you have a noble cause?" she hissed, face to face with him now, so that the boy couldn't hear.

"Noble? This isn't noble! How do you even know it's true? Remember, Rae? Remember Bruma? Yeah, you sure as hell thought it was noble. Was it, Rae? Was it?" He was yelling now, spitting all over her. He sounded like a pure Dunmer straight from Morrowind, his voice a low, fierce growl. His eyes seemed to glow the red, piercing her heart with the anger they radiated. She had never seen him so infuriated, and he grew more and more exasperated as the fury built up in his body. "You can't go around thinking that everyone is true. You need to open your stupid eyes and see that everyone isn't here because of some sad story. They took advantage of you in Bruma. You killed that count with your own hands. You had his innocent blood on your fingers. Are you saying that's noble? They made you believe it was, but was it really? This kid could be doing the same goddamn thing! That woman might be innocent! Do you want another innocent person's blood on your hands? Open up your damn fucking eyes, Raena."

She began to cry. He hadn't brought the Bruma incident up since she had told him, and hadn't wanted to hear the disappointment from him again.

"Fine. Fine. I don't care. Let the witch kill the children, Kaiviin. Sure," she sobbed, "Why should I know what to do? I'm just the idiot who wanted to help, but ended up messing everything up in the end."

Kaiviin immediately froze, his thoughts becoming clear again, seeing the misery he had afflicted on the woman he loved. He embraced her, mumbling words of sorry and pleading for forgiveness, but she merely shrugged him off. She glanced at Aventus, who was puzzled beyond belief; his mouth open and eyes squinted in confusion. She nodded her head and walked out of the house, securing the pack around her torso tightly.

Kaiviin went after her, but she refused to listen to him, and broke into a run. He lost sight of her in the darkness.


End file.
